


It All Came Together on October the Fourth

by Reyanth



Series: Sweet Dreams [2]
Category: Tenipuri - Fandom, Tennis no Oujisama | Prince of Tennis
Genre: BDSM, M/M
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2016-10-04
Updated: 2016-10-29
Packaged: 2018-08-19 12:49:30
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 2
Words: 10,955
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/8208920
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Reyanth/pseuds/Reyanth
Summary: It's Atobe's birthday! Time for some smutty smut. "Fuji had arranged this, planted the seeds of willingness in him, and then drugged and trussed him up like a life-sized present all tied up in a bow. What did you give the man who had everything and could afford anything else he might desire?Tezuka, apparently."





	1. Chapter 1

**Author's Note:**

  * For [Atobe-sama](https://archiveofourown.org/gifts?recipient=Atobe-sama).



> This fic is a side-story to the multi-part Sweet Dreams, in which Fuji was engaged in several varieties of BDSM relationships and underwent a lot of abuse until Tezuka came along to "save the day." This story takes place after that plot has been resolved. While there are few references to the happenings in Sweet Dreams, this story begins with the assumption that Fuji is now dating Atobe, Yukimura, and Tezuka under a mutual agreement. It contains BDSM material which will probably escalate in part two.

Soft lighting refracted off carefully crafted crystal, turning translucence to rainbows in vases and water chalices. Expensive Wedgwood china like lace formed out of snow and decorative tea cups personalized to each of the guests were signs of the utmost hospitality.

Sipping a delicious floral blend of lilac and rosehip from the Queen of Hearts cup he had long been attached to, Atobe surveyed his four companions. To his left, Kabaji. Loyal to a fault, he had usually spent Atobe’s birthday dinners standing at his friend’s side, serving beverages or attending to whatever need may arise. This year, Atobe had spontaneously decided he deserved to take part in the celebration—well, the dinner, at least—and not only because he had decided that the pentagonal obsidian table in the western parlor was the most appropriate match to his aesthetics this evening.

Of course there were multitudes of people who yearned for the honor to celebrate Atobe’s very presence upon the Earth and on past occasions, he had taken on the duty of fulfilling that wish for many of his peers and classmates with grand balls and frivolous outdoor tea parties. This year, however, he had limited his invitations to a select few.

At his right, sat Fuji, serenely dipping one last square of spongy French bread into the melted remains of the delectable praline ice cream that had been a most memorable desert. Atobe could gladly have spent this night with him alone and considered it a very fine birthday, indeed—but any time spent alone with Fuji was a fine occasion. This night called for something special.

It had been Fuji’s subtle suggestion to extend the celebration to encompass the boy sitting to his right in turn. If the crystal shone like rainbows, then sparkling pinpricks of stars reflected off immaculately polished glasses, further complimenting the deep brown eyes of Tezuka Kunimitsu who was contemplating and tracing the artistic ribbons of solidified lace lining his desert plate. While Fuji had grown accustomed to the grandeur of the Atobe household, Tezuka seemed a little out of his depth. It was only to be expected. After all, it wasn’t every day the hard-working middle class was treated to a sojourn in one of the country’s finest households.

And yet, Tezuka conducted himself admirably, further reinforcing Atobe’s anticipation of the unique enjoyment he had chosen for the evening at Fuji’s encouragement. He could not deny a certain intrigue and fascination with Seigaku’s brilliant, talented, and infuriatingly attractive captain. If Atobe were anyone else, he would have been drowning in insecurity at sharing his most beloved Fuji with this rival. He was not anyone else, though, and despite the fact that he had been forced to concede portions of his love to not one, but two other suitors, he was confident in the love and devotion Fuji reserved especially for him.

That was exactly why he was looking forward to this opportunity to expand his own boundaries and include Tezuka—and his spectacular body—in the festivities to come.

“Oh, this blackcurrant tea is delicious!”

The exuberant comment prompted an uncomfortable twitch in Atobe’s eyebrow. He refused to acknowledge the fifth member of the party with so much as a glance, instead dropping his glorious lashes to observe his own descending tea cup to be sure that the frustrated force of his motion caused no harm to his favorite one-of-a-kind set.

Between Kabaji and Tezuka sat a beaming Yukimura. Atobe was fully aware that the Rikkaidai captain’s good humor came solely from his forced inclusion in this event. To Atobe’s dismay, Fuji had twisted his arm into bringing not only Tezuka into the fold, but also the third and final contender for his affections. One might think it was Fuji’s special night, the way he had managed to gather the three boys he most adored like this. It was not, though, and Atobe intended to make that clear. For tonight, Yukimura would have a taste of his own medicine once the Hyoutei captain had had his way with Tezuka—or maybe Tezuka and Fuji as a set. The fun was in letting the details write themselves when the time came.

Turning to his left, Atobe fixed his most warm and grateful expression on his childhood friend and thanked him for spending this evening together with him at the table. “There’s a present for you in your room,” he said, thinking of the present he looked forward to in return when Kabaji read the card attached to it and put the brand new high definition spy camera to good use.

“How generous of you,” commented Yukimura, as if he had a right to pass judgment on anything Atobe may say or do. “I didn’t know it was a custom of the rich to give presents away to the less fortunate on their own birthdays.”

Atobe reined in his ire and stood casually, folding his napkin and smoothing it out atop the shining black surface of the table as he spoke with cool aplomb. “Less fortunate would imply that something in Kabaji’s life is lacking, but as he will tell you himself, he is in fact extremely fortunate to be welcomed as a member of my very own household and inner circle, right Kabaji?” The agreement that followed was not only vehement but also burgeoning with emotion and Atobe felt himself soften in response. “What goes around comes around, or so they say,” he added, extending a hand to Fuji as the tensai rose elegantly. It was a shame he wasn‘t born with a few extra female chromosomes. Instinctively following Atobe’s cues and rarely rebelling out of pride, Fuji would have made a wonderful wife to a future corporate leader.

As Kabaji made his exit, only Yukimura and Tezuka remained seated. The latter had his eyes on Atobe in a manner more speculative and open than the birthday boy had expected. Had Fuji told him of their plans for the night? Or had he cottoned on himself?

“That was a lovely dinner, Atobe,” he said suddenly, in that deep, quiet voice of his that now sent a thrill of interest through Atobe’s nerves. “Am I to presume there is further entertainment planned?”

“Of course! The night is young,” Atobe responded flamboyantly as the unexpected overture kindled his playful spirit. “Shall we retire to the gaming room? I received a lovely box of sherry chocolates earlier that would be well paired with a few rounds of cards—and we haven’t even had cake!”

*

Tezuka shifted experimentally, but didn’t bother to struggle. He could feel the pressure of a variety of silken bindings restricting motion. Currently, they were comfortable enough, but if he struggled they would strain and tighten, causing him unnecessary pain, so he remained relatively still and blinked drowsiness from his vision.

He was on his side and missing his glasses, and so presumed that the blurry lilac expanse that filled half of his vision was made up of bed sheets. The creamy white skin that rippled with gasps of breath and stirring muscle contractions before his eyes most likely belonged to Fuji. When he tilted his head back very slowly and carefully, he was able to confirm that. The blur of bluish purple at the lower edge of his vision, he came to learn, was a very busy Atobe.

Fuji grunted and his belly fluttered prettily as Atobe’s eager cock-sucking and probing fingers brought him off. Licking away the traces of Fuji’s ejaculation like that proverbial cat whose cream wasn’t supposed to be an innuendo, Atobe slid up Fuij’s body, resting his chin against that smooth, sleekly-muscled belly.

“Remind me why I’m doing all the work tonight?” he asked, his voice brimming with amusement.

“Because you’re a generous millionaire who gives away presents on his own birthday,” Fuji sighed, rather contentedly. “And because I have another present in mind for you—and look, he’s awake.”

The statement confirmed Tezuka’s suspicions. He huffed around his silken bit.

Fuji had hinted, and he hadn’t been at all surprised, that Atobe longed to test the waters of a threesome between them, and Tezuka hadn’t been entirely deterred by the thought. Since coming to know Atobe somewhat better through their mutual lover, he had learned that his expectations of what he had once thought Atobe to be were less accurate than the instincts he had been surprised by after facing the diva through tennis. He loved Fuji—that hadn’t changed and never would—but he could admit that it was understandable the tensai had fallen for this insufferably arrogant but beautiful man with an unexpectedly caring soul.

So he hadn’t resisted the flow. A birthday was an almost justifiable occasion for such an experiment and as he found he wasn’t entirely adverse to it, Tezuka had allowed himself to look forward to it a little.

How naïve of him to forget that the currents in this complicated tangle of relationships were not all as vanilla as the physical manifestations of emotion he himself shared with Fuji. He hadn’t even thought to suspect that the chocolates they had dined on were drugged; not even when they had been used as chips in a poker challenge. Had he considered it, Tezuka should have known the game choice was rigged—for him to win, of course. Nobody could beat him at poker. So he had smugly gorged himself on chocolates as they played on until yawns punctuated his bluffs and the cards grew obscenely blurry for what was still a comparatively early hour.

Had that been around 10pm? What time was it now? And what had happened to Yukimura?

Putting aside his questions, Tezuka tried to decide whether he was angry or willing, and came up with the answer that he was annoyed but tempted. Since his first time with Fuji, he had seen the benefit of his lover’s obvious experience and eagerly endeavored to learn more but he had never considered delving into the realms of BDSM. That territory belonged to Atobe and Yukimura respectively. Tezuka was determined to be the sweet, passionate—loving—lover Fuji needed to heal. He’d come to look at the questionable conduct of Atobe as something akin to surgery; invading the skin in order to resettle things on the inside. In Yukimura’s case it was more like re-breaking a bone so that it could be re-set. But then the damage had to be healed, the sinews and cartilage knit back together. That was Tezuka’s domain.

Yet… to understand how to promote healing, one had to understand the invasive or damaging procedures inflicted in order to achieve it. This was a chance for Tezuka to gain some insight into that darker world Fuji ventured into without him. Granted, he wouldn’t have expected himself to wind up on the receiving end like this. Surely Atobe didn’t intend to… Of course he did.

Just like that, it all came together for Tezuka. Fuji had arranged this, planted the seeds of willingness in him, and then drugged and trussed him up like a life-sized present all tied up in a bow. What did you give the man who had everything and could afford anything else he might desire?

Tezuka, apparently.

*

The fact that he had just cum quite satisfactorily at Atobe’s hands didn’t stop Fuji from feeling a warm tingle throughout his body as he gazed on Tezuka, naked but for his red silk bindings. His captain wore an immolating expression partway between a wrathful glare, strong desire, and the juiciest little hint of uncertainty bordering on fear. Fuji should probably feel guilty for being responsible for that last but something about it made his heart race and his thighs twitch.

He had no notions of defiling Tezuka’s purity. His boyfriend had defiled himself the moment he pried into Fuji’s affairs, and neither of them had regretted it, though Tezuka had never stopped regretting the history of it all. This was quite far beyond his ken, though, and it was obvious in the way he flinched as Atobe’s hands caressed his bared skin yet closed his eyes to veil the lust that flared in them.

If he wasn’t gagged, he’d probably have quite a lot to say about all this, so Fuji had spared him the lies born of pride and self-delusion with a length of silk that wound across his jaw and between his lips, trapping his tongue. He would know if Tezuka truly wanted out. He knew the difference between perceiving a threat as a spicy heat or a destructive inferno.

Thus, even as Tezuka’s hazy gaze promised him some devious form of vengeance, the captain barely struggled or resisted. Fuji lazily rubbed his tingling groin as Tezuka leaned into one touch or shied away from another.

To all intents and purposes, Atobe was like a gleeful child trying to predict the contents of a well-wrapped gift by feeling out its contours and textures. Unlike a child, he applied his tongue and teeth to the task just as avidly, delighting in sharp inhalations through the nose or muffled, throaty moans. Every so often, he would probe beneath rows of silk, stimulating skin that had grown accustomed to the concentrated pressure. Inhaling the heady scent Fuji had always associated with the image of a sturdy oak tree, Atobe nipped at Tezuka’s neck, prompting a distressed sound Fuji interpreted as a shock of lust.

As Atobe descended and flicked out the tip of his tongue to teasingly prod a pert nipple back and forth, Tezuka minutely shook his head, his eyes begging Atobe not to do it. Not that Atobe ever took orders. He clamped the firm bud between his teeth and squeezed just enough pressure into the bite that Tezuka’s muscles stiffened in reaction.

Desperate, Tezuka turned his pleading eyes on Fuji even as Atobe licked and sucked and drew another moan but the tensai just leaned over and kissed first one eyelid then the other. He was well familiar with Atobe’s tactics and knew the dominant part of him would never inflict real hurt.

Yukimura was another story entirely. Fuji would never let his most sadistic lover anywhere near his most innocent. Tezuka would never be able to handle Yukimura’s eager inflictions. While the Rikkaidai captain had vastly cut down on play that involved sharp objects and blood enough to drip, he was still quite liberal with teeth and nails—and that was before he got worked up.

Shivering in vivid reminiscence of the last time Yukimura had been pushed so far he forgot he was supposed to play nice now, Fuji’s eyes flickered up over Tezuka’s body to the figure balanced on the edge of the bay window, bound tightly by curtain cords with a ball gag in his mouth. His eyes blazed with a fury that outstripped Tezuka’s indignity by tens of degrees of heat and flared higher still as Fuji dared to meet his glare without immediately rushing over to free him from his bonds.

Fuji chuckled. This night may be a buffet for Atobe’s vigorous libido but it was a rare treat for Fuji, too. All of his lovers naked and turned on, all in one room—and each of them engaged in new and broadening experiences. Even for Atobe this was a pushing of his limits. Extending his favors to someone besides the boy he had taken under his dominion and come to love came harder to him than others might expect—although Tezuka was somewhat of a lesser hurdle to him than even Atobe had anticipated. What would really be interesting was what he chose to do with the defanged Yukimura at his disposal. Fuji couldn’t wait for that.

*

Fuji was going to die for this.

No. That was too simple and far less excruciating than deserved.

He would force Fuji to kill that pompous bastard Atobe. Something vicious that involved slow, torturous flaying. Something…

In spite of his internal vengeful rampage, Yukimura’s cock was very much in the here and now and it bobbed with interest. Without a single touch to ignite him, he had watched over the whole scene as Tezuka was lovingly bound by a very intent Fuji and then Atobe had snagged Yukimura’s lover from behind and begun playing with his balls. He’d done so while staring challengingly at a half-drugged and immobile Yukimura who could do nothing but watch Fuji’s erection pulse with attention.

The whole show as the two had fooled around, waiting for Tezuka to wake, had Yukimura’s traitorous cock standing at attention. Now, his thighs ached and his groin twitched, making his hard-on leap with enthusiasm as Atobe planted Tezuka face-down on the mattress—still with his ankles and thighs bound together—making sure he was comfortable and could breathe before going to town on the Seigaku captain’s ass.

Damn, but he had a long tongue, and Tezuka’s firm round globes parted for him like butter under a hot knife. For the first time, Yukimura could see Tezuka’s eyes and they were glazed with a lack of control barely tempered that he would never have associated with the stoic captain. The silk protruding from his mouth was crimson with soaked-up saliva and his gaze was unfocused. It seemed he’d finally spotted Yukimura, though, his eyes widening and his eyebrows rising—or that might have something to do with the way his hips jerked as Atobe worked one long, elegant finger inside of him.

Drifting in and out of absorption with the unprecedented show and his own vengeful musings, Yukimura hadn’t even seen Fuji rise and glide over to him. He could hardly fail to notice the tensai’s presence, however, as blessed skin contacted his straining cock and rubbed in circular motions like the tugging of a locked door handle.

Since Fuji hadn’t entirely ignored and forgotten about him, and since the view of Tezuka trembling and moaning with Atobe’s fingers delving and exploring deep within him was admittedly splendid, Yukimura let his fury subside to a simmer and smiled awkwardly around the gag that silenced him. He didn’t need words. Fuji met his eyes and shuddered gratifyingly. He then soaked in the erotic display before him and let go the tension that had caused his muscles to seize, releasing with pitiful gratitude into Fuji’s hand.

*

Atobe was startled to realize how the world had faded away while he explored and then pleasured Tezuka, his fingers working open that tight ass he had referenced on more than one occasion. There was something electric about holding such power over an opponent one knew was capable of matching if not besting one’s strength. It was completely different to the dynamic Atobe enjoyed with Fuji, who was utterly submissive to him in almost all things.

Tezuka was reluctant to give up power but he’d been left without a choice in the matter—well, little choice, anyway. Had the boy reacted with violent rejection, Atobe would have set him free and tried to salvage the situation with a little three-way fondling instead. That would have been an enjoyable pudding. This was an impeccably designed champagne-apple creme brulee seared to mouth-watering perfection.

He judged Tezuka ready when the rival captain’s body was entirely lax under him for several moments before a shudder of need ripped through him, starting from the hips. A long moan accompanied it, and suddenly Atobe needed to hear that rumbling voice.

He slithered up Tezuka’s body, relishing the soft ridges of silk that caressed his bare skin as he moved. Hovering just behind Tezuka’s ear, he took in the image set before them of Fuji deep-throating a violently horny Yukimura who could do nothing but groan and buck.

“He looks a little foolish, don’t you think?” Atobe whispered, chuckling as Tezuka seemed momentarily perplexed. “Obviously not. My, this all has you awfully turned on, doesn’t it? Even watching that sick sadist caught in a web just like one of his own has your hips writhing. Don’t think I hadn’t noticed.” Planting a slow, soft kiss near Tezuka’s vertebrae, Atobe slid one hand down his current partner’s body and applied pressure to the graceful curve of one muscular hip. “No getting yourself off, now. That’s my job.” He leaned in to nibble Tezuka’s earlobe between his teeth and then sucked it briefly. “Still, I think he looks foolish. Flailing around like that, all bound up with nothing to do with that pent-up rage but leer and growl like an animal… We can skip that part, right? You and I? This isn’t about pride or ownership… it’s a one-time exception to be mutually enjoyed. If you promise not to rebel, I’ll take off that gag and you can tell me exactly what feels good. Deal? Roll your hips if you agree.” After only a moment’s delay, Tezuka rolled his hips in a circular pattern, up into Atobe’s bracing hand and back down again. “That’s what I thought,” Atobe hummed.

Fuij’s knots were perfectly tight but miraculously easy to untangle. The ribbons fell loose, and Atobe traced Tezuka’s lips then slipped his finger between them, snagging the gag and pulling it free. Slick with spit as it was, he dropped it into a little red pile on the floor beside the bed.

Curious as to what Tezuka’s first words would be, he waited, but the stoic captain refrained from speech. Perhaps he was waiting for a little more comfort. Obligingly, Atobe rolled Tezuka’s bound body so that the boy stared up at him, all porcelain skin, red silk, and soothing green hair feathered about his relaxed, upturned face.

It was perhaps one of the most startlingly and simply touching moments of his life when Atobe’s rival in the games of both tennis and love broke into a one-sided smirk and said, “Happy birthday.”

This just wouldn’t do. A present wasn’t truly yours until it lay unwrapped before you, revealed in all of its grandeur. Atobe was suddenly struck with the overwhelming need to have Tezuka free and mobile, able to touch him, move with him, and above all to prove that he was indeed Atobe’s tonight—not because he had no choice, but because he wanted to be.

Moving abruptly, Atobe knelt by Tezuka’s ankles. He took the knot there between his fingers and pried it apart. As he moved toward the next binding just below Tezuka’s knees, he stared into those deep eyes that still laughed down at him and let his hands feel the way. When he freed Tezuka’s thighs, they fell apart so innocently and yet so damned invitingly.

Wordless as his reputation, Tezuka just leveraged his wrists up from the elbow and held out his beautifully decorated forearms for untying. A seam of red down the middle was a maze of knots to be undone and Atobe called upon all of his poise and grace not to rush it. Who knew if he would ever be gifted with such an opportunity again? It was worth savoring.

The moment Tezuka’s arms were released, they fell to his sides with a relieved sigh and he seemed to revel in a tingle of improved blood flow. Atobe set to work on the torso bindings. However, he wasn’t long at it before Tezuka’s fingers began to play over his skin. They were just light caresses but they represented a desire and willingness Atobe simply couldn’t explain his need for.

He loved Fuji, and he loved making love to Fuji whether as an equal companion or as a slave who was his to command. This was different. Something within him trembled in awe of the command Tezuka displayed even as he submitted to Atobe’s lead. It was unnerving, but also thrilling.

Before he knew it, Atobe was snarling and tearing at the last knot, his hands trembling as he failed to undo it, despite the simple configuration. He snapped out of the lustful trance when Tezuka humphed and asked, “Do I have to do it myself?” He reached up and worked the knot free, placing the end of the cord in Atobe’s still hand.

Suddenly suspicious, Atobe slammed his fist down on the mattress beside Tezuka’s head, leaning over him until their faces were only a breath apart. “Why are you so compliant?” he challenged.

At last, Tezuka showed signs of frustration. “Does it matter?” he responded, bringing his arms up around Atobe’s body.

“Yes,” Atobe growled.

It mattered. It wouldn’t change the outcome of what was about to happen—Atobe was going to enjoy his present come hell or high water—but it did matter.

“I don’t agree with all of your methods and choices,” said Tezuka after a resigned sigh. “But I admire you.”

“Of course you do,” Atobe snorted. “That’s not what I’m asking. Why let me have my way with you? Why are you about to let me fuck you senseless? I know this is new for you, so why me?”

A gentle hand meshed its fingers with Tezuka’s, pressing against Atobe’s back and Fuji bent down to speak into his ear. “Because I love you. Because he wants to understand me. Because it’s your birthday and you want him, and I want you to have him.”

A noncommittal grunt was all he was going to get from Tezuka but Fuji’s quiet words rekindled the urgency that had briefly possessed him earlier and next thing he knew, Atobe was battling greedily with Tezuka’s tongue in a lip-scraping kiss that temporarily stole all his breath and left him panting. If his own lips were scratched and raw, Tezuka’s were deliciously plump and swollen and he couldn’t resist dipping down again to draw one into his mouth and caress it with his tongue, sucking lightly.

From there, his body moved of its own volition and he began kissing Tezuka’s neck, caressing his body, and then slipped his hand between the boy’s thighs to rub the inverted bud he had earlier prepped and readied. Ever-helpful, Fuji was there with lubed fingers he slipped between Atobe’s and then pressed inside of Tezuka. He gave it a perfunctory swipe or two and then withdrew, coating his whole hand next to slick up Atobe’s cock.

If he didn’t know better, Atobe would think Fuji was just as eager for this as he was.

Who was he kidding? That was exactly how it was.

Reminded of what a stud he was and what a hot show it would be for Fuji… and for Yukimura for that matter, Atobe was himself again, and ready to pound Tezuka into the mattress with all of the majestic bearing he possessed.

*

Deluded with thoughts of freedom even as he drowned in such sensation as he had never experienced, Tezuka was determined that the moment he was released from the gag he would give Atobe—and Fuji—a blistering such as they had never heard. The moment he was released from these bindings, he would put some distance between himself and his would-be Casanova, and THEN they would see who was in charge, here.

A stranger in his own skin, Tezuka had been just as surprised as Atobe when he conceded his will. He felt an odd sense of calm come over him when his mouth was freed but all of the insults and snarky commentary he had prepared went up in a puff of smoke. He thought carefully about what he really wanted to say and then realized he had been complicit in this from the start. Otherwise, he would have gotten himself out of this situation one way or another.

So when Atobe kindly settled his helpless body comfortably face-up, he studied the handsome boy looming over him and suddenly the words came to him. “Happy birthday.”

He was rather bemused with his own behavior and puzzled over it as he watched Atobe unravel him in more ways than one. It struck him only when Atobe lost control of himself on that last knot, and he realized that this wasn’t just a game Fuji had set up, or a frivolous substitute for a real present—Fuji had done this because he cared about Atobe and chose to give him something with meaning.

That thought tripped him up and he busied himself with ribbing the Hyoutei captain and ridding himself of the final restraint. He was completely unsuspecting when Atobe demanded an explanation and his mind went blank, without one to give.

Fuji’s words clarified everything, including the epiphany Tezuka had been caught up in.

Atobe wanted him. Atobe really wanted him. Atobe really, really wanted him.

When the seed of this desire had been born, or how long it had been growing, Tezuka couldn’t even begin to guess, but right now he could see it in full bloom before him. A moment later, Atobe’s tongue was down his throat and he was swept up in a heavy kiss that clawed little tracks of desire around his groin and left him gasping.

Screw the BDSM implications, screw birthdays and presents; this had just gone to another level. Atobe wanted him, and Tezuka was shocked to discover he wanted Atobe, too—for all of the reasons Fuji had stated and maybe a few more of his own.

After watching Fuji climax—and Yukimura, too—and all of the dirty, shameful things Atobe had been doing to him, this revelation was almost too much for Tezuka. He was so hard it ached and he was past the point of thinking. He wanted to be taken—now. He didn’t care if it hurt, or if he never lived this down. Right now, he needed it.

*

Backing up so as not to miss a moment of the action, Fuji watched in awe as Atobe all-but growled and then tugged Tezuka into position with one efficient motion. He lingered over the Seigaku captain for a long, communicative moment, and then guided his jutting erection between Tezuka’s thighs and stole that last bastion of virginity without hesitation.

Their embrace said it all; Tezuka’s head cradled protectively in Atobe’s arm, their eyes locked as Tezuka’s fingers clenched on Atobe’s taut biceps. This was a match that had been a long time in coming—ever since another kind of match when they had faced each other down with a similar primal grit to the current display.

Caught off guard by the passion he had unknowingly woken, Fuji pressed his back against Yukimura, seeking what support the immobilized sadist could give. He was neither jealous, nor afraid that he would lose either of his lovers, just taken aback. Awe was a powerful emotion—almost as powerful as Atobe’s pumping thighs as he nailed Tezuka thrust after driving thrust.

For all the rough sex Fuji had engaged in, he’d never seen or felt anything like this. A drop of dread momentarily rippled through him as he remembered Akutsu and the assault that had battered and broken him, but this wasn’t that by a long shot. For one, this was consensual, and for another, the exertion of force was a give-and-take like magnets slammed together and then pried apart through some trick of polarity.

Tezuka’s moans were completely different from the affectations of pleasure he seemed to consciously remind himself to voice when he made love to Fuji. He was out of control, rigid and writhing as Atobe struck his pleasure center and tore sounds from Tezuka that Fuji hadn’t imagined he could make.

Before he knew what he was doing, Fuji was pressed flush against Yukimura’s exposed body, rubbing his ass purposefully against the hardness that slid up and down his crevice. He reached behind them both to the wooden edge of the bay window and braced, shifting until he was sure the positioning was perfect, and then Yukimura slid home with a little help from Fuji’s backward thrust.

His vision wavered and he let out a soft breath of a groan, so stirred by the vigorous coupling before him that he was already on the edge of release. For a moment, he wondered who would finish first, but he didn’t kid himself. Those two didn’t have the incredibly erotic visual stimulation he and Yukimura were being treated to, and they both had the stamina of… of something really sturdy, resilient, and way sexier than anything Fuji’s short-circuiting brain could dredge up.

Awkward as it was, Yukimura managed to find a shallow thrust that was salvaged by sheer luck of angle and Fuji held onto the wood behind them, putting his own hips to work as they bucked towards a short but gratifying mutual orgasm a full minute before Tezuka shouted and seized up in a series of convulsions. As if in sympathy, Atobe’s thrusts degraded into uncontrolled jerks until he crumpled spent over a still-shuddering Tezuka.

*

It was inconceivable that Atobe had surpassed the limits of his considerable stamina but there was really no other explanation for it when he crawled back to consciousness to find himself being licked all over by a horny, restless tensai. He passed a hand over his eyes, bringing it away sweaty—unless that sweat had already coated his palm.

Damn. Had that really just happened?

“I thought you’d never come to,” Fuji complained, happily diving in for a kiss Atobe wasn’t ready for.

Ready or not, he never turned down a kiss from Fuji, and he might have gotten a little carried away as his sexy little lover writhed all over him and tried to suck his tongue dry. One wry note of a suppressed chuckle reached Atobe’s ears and he pried his eyes open a moment before Fuji backed off, looking up at an irritatingly conscious and composed Tezuka.

“Sorry to interrupt, but Fuji’s been waiting very patiently for the cake,” he said.

Following the line of Tezuka’s glance, Atobe became aware of an ever-more furious Yukimura devilishly smothered in a messy coating of cream, sponge, mousse, biscuit, and other… toppings (no-doubt left behind by Fuji). He raised his eyebrows. Just how long had he been out?

“You can’t be serious,” he drawled, glancing sideways at the tensai, who was watching avidly for his reaction.

Fuji grinned and produced a large red candle, lighting it and passing it to a bewildered Atobe, then led them over the human cake that was glaring them all down. As the tensai broke out into an enthusiastic chorus of “Happy birthday,” Atobe had the impression that Fuji had an agenda all of his own for what was about to happen next.


	2. Chapter 2

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Happy Halloween!  
> I wanted to get this finished within the month of October and the Halloween period seemed a good time for this kinky escape from reality.
> 
> Whatever you were expecting from this chapter, I would be surprised and a little impressed if this was it. Readers of Sweet Dreams will probably not be too shocked. However, the last chapter was pretty softcore, so consider yourselves warned: coming up, we have hot wax torture and penetration by a blunt object. Also, darling vanilla sundae Tezuka is going a bit doolally. Maybe it’s all that sherry in the chocolate.

With a cheeky grin, Fuji raised a long candle of medium thickness and a silver-gilt lighter from the trolley upon which Kabaji had not long ago delivered a perfectly in-tact, non-humanoid cake—the very same one that was now all over Yukimura.

Damn him. Not only was this humiliating, it was uncouth, too. Why was Fuji doing this? Did he secretly harbor hatred for Yukimura despite his own insistence that their S&M play was of his own choosing?

Studying the boy that had captured his affections in a cage far more constricting that the cords binding his wrists, Yukimura reassessed, putting emotion-based reaction aside. There was something more to this.

First, he had worked subtly but purposefully to provoke that carnal display between Atobe and Tezuka. That even Fuji had been stunned by the ferocity of it was immaterial. He had seen the potential for it and ruthlessly encouraged it.

The result was… He was studying the wrong person.

The results were in Tezuka and Atobe. If Yukimura could identify them, he would learn the secret in time for… what? That was the issue.

First, he turned his eyes on Tezuka. What was different? He was moving awkwardly, as to be expected after a drilling like that, and his first time on bottom, too, if Yukimura understood correctly. However, there was also a confidence in his motions that hadn’t been there earlier tonight. In this mansion that was a new environment and the territory of a rival, and then stripped to his skin, tied up, and molested… Well, it wasn’t all that odd that he had shown signs of hesitance and discomfort. But those were gone now.

Instead of showing fear or anger towards Atobe… he was mirroring the narcissist’s confident nature, moving in step with him, and even exhibiting a predatory gleam in his eyes that shouldn’t have been there and wouldn’t have been an hour ago. A shift of the gaze to Atobe and the lit candle in his hand and it clicked.

Fuji was bringing them together; not just for a sexual fling, either. He was transforming them each into something that could accept the others. To do that… Yukimura would be required to pay penitence for his presumed abusive sins so that Atobe—and perhaps even Tezuka, now that something in him had awoken—could put their grievances to rest.

Damn Fuji!

Yukimura was not a doll to be toyed with! He wasn’t going to stand here docilely while-

Fuji began to sing. “Happy birthday to you♪Happy birthday to you♪ Happy birthday dear Atobe-sama~♪ Happy birthday to you♪”

Staring deliberately into Yukimura’s eyes, Atobe smirked and unbuckled the ball-gag that had instilled a pain in Yukimura’s jaw and cramped up his lips.

“I’m going to kill you,” Yukimura said immediately.

As Fuji scooped up what was once cake from Yukimura’s shoulder and smeared it on his lips, the buffoonish, pampered, rich prick of a diva leaned in and licked it off. When he slipped his tongue in for a kiss, Yukimura made to bite it, but Atobe’s instincts were the real deal, and he darted back with an amused snicker. Instead, he bent over and licked a trail along the line of Yukimura’s collar bone, making a noise of approval for the taste.

“I’ll drain you dry and water my garden with your blood,” he swore.

“It would be an awful shame to waste such tasty peach mousse,” Atobe commented, then dropped lower to suck a bit of sponge and biscuit between his lips. “Delicious. You should try some, Tezuka.”

Realizing that his threats fell on ears not only deaf but also irrevocably stupid, Yukimura resolved to conduct himself as arrogantly as possible for one hanging from curtain cords and slathered in cake. He didn’t flinch, struggle, or comment as he was licked and nibbled by Arch-enemy #1.

Despite his new-found sexual deviance, the Seigaku captain—Arch-enemy #2—eyed him warily. A light touch from Fuji, and he found his resolve.

Oh, what the hell. “Go ahead and take a nice, good bite,” Yukimura urged.

He really, really hadn’t expected the straight-laced, Don’t-Hurt-Fuji-or-Else, stick-in-the-mud pretty-boy to actually take him up on that. A lapping of cream and then a bite to the nipple took them all by surprise. Apparently Tezuka had learned from Atobe’s teachings that not all pain was punishment.

Yukimura wished that theory would apply when, having cleared a patch of ribs of all its cakings, Atobe tilted the candle and dripped hot, burning wax onto his skin. Thrashing, Yukimura instinctively struggled against his bonds but the best he could do was to swing back until his knees hit the wood of the bay window. Thwarted, he slumped, but recovered in moments.

“Don’t you dare,” he warned, glaring darkly at Atobe from behind strands of hair that had fallen over his sweat-slicked cheeks. “Don’t you fu-ahhh!”

Another fall of molten candle trickled over the nipple Tezuka had just finished kissing and clearing of cream and mousse. Yukimura trembled and hissed until Fuji lightly scratched his skin, peeling the dried wax free and relieving the immediate burn.

The after-effect felt strangely pleasant, like the tingle of hot spice in curry, or medicinal patches on sore muscles. Weirdly, he didn’t hate it.

The next wax dripping still burned like hell—more painful than Yukimura’s short memory had prepared him for—but the pain faded to something more desirable soon after the wax was scraped away. It became something Yukimura anticipated and longed for, every time the wax sizzled against his skin.

When it stopped, he licked his lips in the wait for the next round—and waited until he realized in disappointment that the torture was over. At once, his eyes went round with shock. He wasn’t the masochist here. This wasn’t his preference at all. How could he-?

And then Fuji kissed him, deeply and longingly, and he knew at once that the tensai had always wanted him to understand in some little corner of himself what it was like to need what he gave. His arms were around Fuji—stinging with relief—before he even registered that he had been untied.

“Mine,” came a jealous snarl, moments before Fuji was torn away from the desperate kiss, but to everyone’s surprise, it wasn’t Fuji who Atobe claimed with that word, it was Yukimura. He closed the distance between them until his admittedly beautiful eyes were all Yukimura could see. “Tonight, you’re all mine.”

The next tongue that contacted his was Atobe’s, and it demanded and took—but did not steal. For now, Atobe had what he wanted. Yukimura’s will was worn and frayed from being restrained, molested, humiliated, and more. If it took submission to Atobe to keep his freedom and to be properly included in this rite, he could give that much.

It was a mark of how strongly affected he had been by watching Atobe and Tezuka together that Yukimura desired inclusion at all. He did, though, and as long as he was handing the reins to Atobe for the time being, he could admit that much to himself. He wanted to be part of this; not an outsider looking in and tossed a few scraps when there was excess. By all rights, he should be at the head of the table and settling for any less was an affront to his dignity. Never-the-less...

Atobe was elegant, but he was also fierce and passionate, and lacked the finesse of subtlety. Even so, Yukimura found the mauling agreeable, and let the diva’s hands roam where they might while his lips and tongue were greedily devoured.

Meanwhile, Fuji spoke into his ear.

“Just this once, let us have you. Give Atobe what he wants and show Tezuka you can concede when necessary. Prove you can put me first, above all else.”

He shouldn’t have to prove any such thing! Fuji had disobeyed him, cheated on him, abandoned him, and still Yukimura had accepted this farcical love trapezoid because it meant Fuji’s happiness.

When Atobe released him and he twisted his head to glare his betrayal at that challenge right into Fuji’s eyes, he saw it, though. He did have to prove exactly that. For some reason, Fuji doubted his devotion—perhaps because their relationship was unbalanced. With Tezuka doting on him and Atobe pampering him, Fuji was growing accustomed to such idealized treatment that only Yukimura denied him.

It was insulting. Their relationship was exactly as advertised—exactly what Fuji had always wanted!

Yet perhaps always was a troublesome word. Nothing stayed the same forever. Fuji was changing—because of Tezuka and Atobe, yes, but it was a reality all the same.

Puffing his anger out through his nostrils, Yukimura took a series of slow breaths, molding his thoughts and tailoring his expectations. Fuji was changing and now he needed a show of faith from Yukimura.

All he had to do was prove that he could take as well as he gave.

Placing his nails in a semi-circle upon Atobe’s pectoral muscle, Yumikura looked the birthday boy in the eyes. He wanted to dig in, make a few cuts and scrape a little skin, but he refrained, flattening his fingers and running them down that smooth skin over beautifully toned muscles.

Still looking into Atobe’s eyes, he gently grasped the candle still held in long, elegant fingers, letting his eyes communicating his passivity. Raising the candle to his lips, he blew out the flame, then upended it and swiped his tongue around the base, still staring into Atobe’s eyes, but now with a hint of challenge.

When he was done licking and suckling the red wax, he smiled slowly and dropped the candle into Atobe’s hands. “Happy birthday,” he murmured. “Think you can find a use for that?”

Atobe just swallowed and stared warily after him as Yukimura sashayed to the bed, crawled onto it, and held his wrists behind him, inviting some form of restraint. The only thing more surprising than Atobe’s hesitation, was Tezuka’s cold willingness to snatch up some of the silk that had bound him not long ago and wrap it harshly about Yukimura’s wrists, then push him lightly so that he fell forward, braced with his cheek to the mattress.

*

Atobe shivered.

There he was, holding in his hand a long, ribbed candle as thick as his own penis with Yukimura Seichi—who he often claimed to despise—bent over before him still slathered in his cake and practically asking to be violated. In fact, he _was_ asking; or, rather, taunting.

“This is the least kinky form of penetration I can think of. I assure you anything I have done to Fuji has been far, far worse. You’re not getting squeamish on me, are you?”

His taunting seemed to be getting to Tezuka who was already handling him far more roughly than Atobe would have thought the kind and wise Seigaku captain to be capable of. Meanwhile, Fuji’s grip on Atobe’s shoulder was convulsing periodically; whether to encourage or to restrain, he couldn’t tell.

The thing was, Atobe just wasn’t into this kind of kink. He enjoyed power play—hell, he was born to it—but inflicting pain beyond a nip or a tweak designed to enhance pleasure was just not his thing.

He looked at the candle.

He looked back up at Yukimura’s tiny ass, arched for his convenience.

Then, he noted the semi-erect state of the length dangling between the V of Yukimura’s splayed thighs.

The thought that just maybe Yukimura actually kind of wanted this began to work on his resilience. He approached softly, stopping a stride away and observing the Rikkaidai captain’s body on offer.

For this to go ahead, he had one requirement—a requirement that might be a tall order to fulfill. Yukimura was going to have to give verbal consent.

Calculating his opponent’s weaknesses—or rather, lack there-of—Atobe began to trail the charred wick of the candle over lily-white thighs. He dragged it up one side, detouring along the cream-filled crevice between thigh muscle and buttocks and tracing the contour of a skinny hip before crossing to the other side.

“For example,” he asked mildly, taking a moment to lick at that tasty peach cream so it would not go to waste, “Just what have you penetrated Fuji with?”

Truthfully, he wasn’t sure he wanted to know, but there was a tiny bud of curiosity there that may as well be unfurled with this opportunity.

His head tilted awkwardly between mattress and shoulder, Yukimura grinned hauntingly. “Well, there was that racket you gave him for Christmas.”

Atobe’s fist clenched on the candle which jerked against the soft round of Yukimura’s left thigh. Tezuka’s response was less controlled. He choked, and gripped Yukimura’s bicep hard enough to bruise, then consciously loosened his grip and removed his hand.

Narrowing his eyes, Atobe signaled Fuji for the lighter. Clearly he wasn’t the only one to whom a little therapeutic revenge was becoming more and more appealing.

“Tezuka, would you be so kind as to prep him for me?” Atobe suggested.

“With pleasure,” Tezuka responded coldly, locating his glasses and a tube of lubricant Atobe had tossed aside earlier while messing around with Fuji.

Another shudder threatened Atobe’s frame at that reaction but Yukimura was watching him from that awkward angle so he suppressed it and took the lighter Fuji handed him, bringing the tip of the candle back to life with a misleadingly innocent orange glow. Seating himself beside Yukimura, he dangled his legs over the edge of the bed and leaned back until their heads were level.

He held the candle out over his victim and tipped it up, letting the wax fall on that unblemished white skin.

“I loathe you.”

“Clearly.”

Another fall of wax and a hissed exhalation followed by a sharp intake and a held breath.

“If Fuji didn’t want it so badly, I wouldn’t touch you with a ten-foot pole.”

“Apparently you’re not even man-enough to touch me with an eight-inch candle.”

If the flame was held alarmingly close to Yukimura’s shoulder for an extended period of time as wax dribbled down over his upended neck, Atobe was hardly at fault after a dig like that.

“See, now you’re practically begging me to fuck you with it.”

Yukimura spoke through a grimace painted as a grit-toothed grin.

“If you don’t know how to use it, I could always give you a demonstrAYsshun—fuck!”

Atobe raised his eyebrows as he looked up at Tezuka who was four-fingers deep in Yukimura and looking rather satisfied with himself. Fuji was pressed against his side and breathing slowly and deliberately as he watched both Tezuka’s ministrations and the banter and wax-dripping simultaneously taking place.

Blowing out the candle, Atobe lowered himself to Yukimura’s level and spoke quietly, watching the other’s eyes closely for certainty.

“Do you want me to do this?” he asked. “You’re putting on a brave face but I have no desire to hurt you.”

Yukimura almost seemed angry. His eyes were as volatile as the sea, but also as calm when they changed. “Yes,” he said at last. “ _Because_ you don’t want to hurt me, I want you to do this. For Fuji… and for me. And—ah!” For a moment, Yukimura fell silent, trapping his lower lip between his teeth and squeezing his eyes shut against the ruthlessly pleasurable finger-fucking he was on the receiving end of. “And for that prick,” he whispered, probably referring to Tezuka.

“Well then, let this be my present to the less fortunate,” Atobe hummed, satisfied with the consent secured and starting to lose his mind a little as he watched Yukimura’s features contort in ecstasy. For a moment, Yukimura was almost attractive—sexy, even—and, just for a moment, Atobe almost admired his conviction.

*

Fuji wouldn’t have been disappointed if Yukimura had backed out, or if Atobe had chosen not to go through with it. Sharing this experience with all of his lovers was something he desired, but not something he needed. Seeing Yukimura made vulnerable—for him, because it could never be _by_ him—was important to him, but not a necessity to their relationship. They could go on as always without this. With this… they might just evolve. All of them.

Taking hold of Tezuka’s wrist and softly dragging his fingers from Yukimura’s body, Fuji kissed his captain, stroking his face and infusing his touch with all the love and tenderness they had come to share. He was a little concerned for Tezuka at the willingness of his participation in this particular phase of the night but he understood it.

Tezuka was a warrior, and just because he chose compassion did not mean by any stretch that he was incapable of violence. He loved Fuji, and he cared greatly for his friends and companions, but this was a taste of how dangerous he could be when pushed beyond defensive protection. This was vengeance against someone who he perceived had hurt Fuji, and it was not so unlike his ruthlessness on the tennis courts, though he would blanch at the comparison.

The gentle kiss restored his temper and kindled doubt his in eyes at his own actions, but Fuji soothed that with understanding and then put the silent dialogue to rest by kissing the slick fingers now clasped in his own. Then, Fuji was sandwiched between Tezuka and Atobe, whose arm snaked around him from behind, and whose mouth caressed the joint between his neck and shoulder. Fuji tilted his head, enjoying the intimacy while still smiling at Tezuka.

Not a flicker of jealousy there—not tonight. This really was everything he had ever dreamed of.

“You’re unconscionable,” Atobe scolded, though his voice was smoldering with lust. “See what you do to us all? Wrapped around your fingers so desperate for your affection that we’ll do anything.”

Fuji gasped, his stomach dropping at the words edged with cruelty. “That’s not what I-”

“Hush,” Atobe breathed, nuzzling his ear. “Not one of us would have it any other way. Don’t ever let me be without you.”

Shaken, and stirred with emotion, Fuji closed his eyes and nodded. When Atobe released him, he slipped out from between the two captains and approached the third, crawling up on the bed beside him. Sliding his fingers under Yukimura’s jaw, he turned his sadistic lover’s face and cushioned it in his palm.

“Are you ok with this?” he asked, afraid that he might really be pushing too far.

“This is nothing compared to what I’m going to do to you next week,” Yukimura promised in a silken murmur that only Fuji could possibly make out.

Fuji shivered, but it wasn’t entirely an unpleasant kind of reaction.

“Just this once,” Yukimura continued, “I’ll prove to you what you should already know. I will do anything if it makes you happy. Does this make you happy?”

“Are you turned on?” Fuji asked. “Even a little?”

“Tell either of them and I’ll skin you,” Yukimura breathed, “But yes. I’m horny as hell right now.”

The grin that took over Fuji’s lips had a will of its own. “Then yes, I am happy,” he said.

Thinking that Yukimura looked rather uncomfortable, he began to wriggle his way underneath the Rikkaidai captain’s body and was aided by Tezuka who hauled Yukimura up by the middle and then slowly let him back down on top of Fuji.

Propping Yukimura up by hands held under his chest and shoulder, Fuji looked beyond him and saw Tezuka giving him a strange, bemused look, as if he wasn’t quite sure how they had gotten here; and beyond him was an admirably patient Atobe with his hand hovering on Yukimura’s ass. Fuji felt a giddiness come over him as he nodded to Atobe and then captured Yukimura’s lips, swallowing the groan that signaled that the candle was being put to work.

*

Tezuka watched on with detached fascination as Atobe struggled to work the flat, blunt end of the candle into the hole assigned to it. It wasn’t so much of a hole at first, as an indent, and the shape of the instrument simply didn’t seem compatible. Then, Atobe used his fingers, prizing open the sphincter, wedging the thing in there, and then leveraging it in with his middle-finger like a shoe-horn.

Clearly, it wasn’t going anywhere without some lube. Tezuka made himself useful and applied some, rubbing it around the protruding majority of the candle, then inching his fingers around the widened flesh surrounding it.

The candle wasn’t so wide, so even with the ribbing, it went in quite smoothly after that, though it was slow going. Atobe was meticulous in pursuing pleasure over pain, and he twisted the instrument a little deeper turn-by-turn. When it was a good third of the way in, he paused, and Yukimura’s ruckus changed in tone. His moan turned to one of longing and he pulled away from the mouth-to-mouth with Fuji to run his mouth off a little.

“I’m not made of porcelain!” he complained. “Just screw me already.”

Atobe looked at Tezuka who shrugged.

“He wants me to screw him.” A slow smile spawned across the diva’s lips. “I think I’d prefer he asked me nicely.”

Instead of pistoning the candle in and out, Atobe gave it a twist. He waited a beat, pushed it a cuticle’s width deeper, paused again, and then pulled it back a touch. Yukimura growled and tried to press back into the make-shift dildo but Atobe was barely gripping it so all he achieved was thrusting his ass in the air.

“I think he wants you to ask him nicely,” Tezuka relayed, taking ahold of the red silk binding Yukimura’s wrists to help stabilize him some.

Yukimura seethed, but somehow kept his immediate response leashed. “Please,” he said with agonizing aplomb. “Give me what I deserve.”

“Do you think he deserves a good screw?” Atobe asked Tezuka, his eyes twinkling with a touch more amusement than expected.

Yanking once on the silk bonds, Tezuka sidled closer to Atobe until he was close enough to reach for those perfectly formed lips. “Make him scream,” he said, kissing Atobe and pressing his body against the one he had only just begun to feel familiar with.

As their tongues engaged, Atobe’s wrist began to jerk back and forth and a steady stream of moans, groans, and swearing rose from below. Tezuka was more concerned with what was going on up top, though. After all, tonight was about Atobe. It really _wasn’t_ fair to make the birthday boy do all the work.

Taking Atobe’s other hand and guiding it to the restraints holding Yukimura’s wrists behind his back, Tezuka began to slip around behind Atobe, breaking the kiss as the angle grew too implausible. He ran his hands down the silhouette of that impeccable torso, appreciating the slight curves and defined muscles. He ran one hand up between Atobe’s ass cheeks, enjoying the fidgeting shift that initiated.

“Tezuka?” Atobe asked breathily.

“You just keep on doing what you’re doing,” Tezuka told him, sliding down until his nose bumped against Atobe’s opening—as-yet un-touched tonight. He fumbled for the lube, knocking it off the edge of the bed and grabbing it up from the floor even as he probed with his tongue.

“Say something,” Tezuka urged, as he slathered fresh lube on his fingers.

“Like what?”

“Why don’t you tell us all how magnificent you are?” Tezuka suggested.

He didn’t care what Atobe said, he just wanted to hear the boy’s sexy voice hitch and tremble in response to his touch. Over a background of moans and cries and ragged breathing, Atobe began a soliloquy of his virtues while Tezuka stretched his ass and concentrated on altering the pitch and rhythm of that speech.

Getting rather breathy as he praised himself while plunging, twisting, and rotating the candle in Yukimura’s ass, Atobe seemed to slip into a strange twilight that was mostly dom as he gazed down upon his subject but also partly submissive in recognition of the boy whose orders he was submitting to and who was about to fuck him. If Fuji was putty beneath Yukimura and Yukimura was currently under the control of Atobe, and Atobe was falling prey to Tezuka’s authority; that made Tezuka top dog. He was starting to somewhat comprehend the appeal of this game.

He couldn’t even begin to imagine applying such tactics to Fuji. All he wanted was to love and cherish his boyfriend, but it was a heady rush to exercise control with someone like Atobe, over whom he craved to assert himself—on the tennis courts, of course. This was the other side of the coin to what he had earlier sensed in giving Atobe full control over his body.

Standing, and grounding Atobe’s hips with his palms pressing downward, Tezuka spoke directly into the diva’s ear, nibbling and licking at the cartilage between words. “I must say, I had no idea what I was getting myself into tonight, but I’m glad I took the risk.” He nudged Atobe’s knees with his own, pressing them into the edge of the mattress so that Atobe was braced, even as he continued to exert his own force, driving the candle in and out of Yukimura, though the speed was somewhat erratic due to Tezuka’s actions.

Consumed by the role he had assumed, Tezuka felt the tiniest hint of a sadistic smirk twitch at his lips and he began to hum the tune of happy birthday as he guided his erection to Atobe’s entrance and pressed inside.

*

Atobe almost lost it as the breadth and heat of Tezuka invaded him. His knees might have wobbled if they weren’t digging into the mattress. He was having a hard time keeping his arm moving and he wasn’t sure if he was holding Yukimura up by the wrists or leaning on him for support.

At first, he hadn’t been sure about all this, but Tezuka’s encouragement and Yukimura’s steadily growing enthusiasm had won him over. Once the initial penetration was achieved, it wasn’t so different from standard sex—except that he was doing all of the heavy lifting for relatively little reward. Until Tezuka decided to reward him, that was. The reward part was clear because the tune of the birthday song was hummed like the equivalent of a mix-tape as Tezuka’s solid cock scraped into him.

Evidently, Fuji had been a remarkable influence on the former prude, although Atobe was flattered to think he had been rather influential himself tonight. Frankly, it didn’t really matter whose doing this was. Tezuka Kunimitsu was fucking him boldly and dirtily, and he was loving it!

He tried to maintain some kind of rhythm but the movement of his wrist grew more and more sporadic as pleasure blossomed inside of him. He hadn’t been taken for a long time but most would be surprised to learn that he loved it.

As Tezuka slammed home hard, Atobe lost his hold on the candle, gripping his silk handhold in a vice-like fist. He fell forward, his belly rocking against the red lever protruding from Yukimura’s ass.

Stars burst before his eyes at one thrust, and then again. He scrambled for leverage and soon found himself kneeling on the edge of the bed, straddling Yukimura’s thigh. The force of Tezuka’s driving hips ground him roughly against that pillar and he lost all dignity as that friction collaborated with the bliss radiating from within him. Humping mindlessly, he fumbled until his palm pressed against the end of the candle and shoved against it as Tezuka rocked him.

*

Who came first might be a good concept for a mystery-themed romance novel but Fuji didn’t much care. In no particular order, he experienced the growling, groaning shudder of Tezuka’s release as pure sound. Atobe’s jerking, uncontrolled orgasm came with an outcry that Fuji witnessed in second-hand sensation. More immediately, he had his fist curled around Yukimura’s leaking cock even as the Rikkaidai captain was flattened against him and slammed to a mindless, moaning wreck as he came hard.

All Fuji knew was that he definitely came last. It was sensory overload. The only direct stimulation was Yukimura’s skin sliding against his arousal but the sounds, sights, and feelings of all three of his lovers losing their minds with rapture hit him belatedly. His belly tightened in a vicious contraction and he jerked three times as his cock erupted in sympathy.

He didn’t care if he got into trouble with all three of his lovers over this. It was worth it. It was so worth it.

Tezuka regained his breath first and shakily removed himself from the top of the pile, but when Yukimura began to gather strength in his legs and abs, in preparation to rise, there was no such leeway. Sprawled over the top of them, Atobe was dead to the world—again.

“I think you broke him,” Fuji gasped, rolling his eyes toward Tezuka who had flopped at the head of the bed and didn’t seem inclined to help excavate them as yet.

Slumping with resignation, Yukimura nuzzled oddly sweetly at Fuji’s neck. “If you ask me, Tezuka’s the one who’s broken,” he slurred.

“Say what you want,” Tezuka drawled, his eyes closed and a hand lingering over his eyes, having run out of gas halfway through swiping away sweat. “At least I don’t have a candle sticking out of my ass.”

It was such an absurd statement coming from Tezuka that Fuji began to giggle—and kept giggling, then chuckling, the chortling, until he was laughing so hard that his contractions toppled Atobe who tumbled to the floor and woke at last. The sound of his shocked landing only made Fuji laugh harder, and soon Tezuka was joining in. Even Yukimura released a chuckle or two, though he kept most semblance of mirth contained in favor of petitioning Atobe to untie him and to “Remove this infernal device.”

He was more amiable when he had been given a taste of the cake he wore and then rubbed down with a wet cloth before laying his head on a big, soft pillow at the head of the bed with Fuji securely trapped in his arms. If Atobe or Tezuka were inclined to protest, they were charitable about it. Instead, Atobe entwined his fingers with Fuji’s and lined their bodies up but turned his face toward Tezuka upon whose shoulder his head was pillowed.

“Happy birthday, love,” Fuji whispered, squeezing the hand clasping his.

*

Long after three sets of breathing had evened out, Atobe lay awake, still as a statue. Fuji’s hand in his felt comfortable and familiar, but Tezuka’s body pillowing his own was new and unusual. Welcome, though. Even if it was just this once.

Even if he never did manage to coax Tezuka into bed again, or have another chance to show Yukimura who was boss… he’d always have the video.

Thus, Atobe finally drifted off to sleep with a smile, thinking of the private director’s cut that would be Kabaji’s present to him and might just become a must-watch birthday and holiday tradition.


End file.
